


Drowning in the Open Sky

by nuka_cherries



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Canon Compliant, Edward Kenway Contemplating Life, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, Leap of Faith, My Return to Writing Fanfiction, No Dialogue, One Shot, Warm-Up Fanfic, introspection without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuka_cherries/pseuds/nuka_cherries
Summary: Climbing was the closest way a sinner could reach heaven.
Kudos: 15





	Drowning in the Open Sky

**Author's Note:**

> A warm up piece for returning to fanfiction after my hiatus/self-exile/life contemplation/personal heroic journey. (It was college. I was busy with college.)
> 
> I have been playing a lot of AC4 and I began playing it with the music turned off. I really suggest trying it out if you haven't yet! Free-running in the forest and islands without music provides a different ambient altogether. I've also swam so much with Eddie that I might as well win the Olympics.
> 
> I don't own Assassin's Creed. If I did...Mexican Revolutionary War game on god. RIGHT NOW.
> 
> Enjoy!

Edward James Kenway, born in Wales and legacy etched in each conquered island of the Caribbean Sea. The forts were his. The Great Inagua was his. One of the richest men of the Caribbean Sea, one of the most feared pirates...yet one of the emptiest souls to ever be known. He wondered what he was; a leader of their Jackdaw, a nation over water, that had a strong, dedicated crew.

He wondered how long he could keep this up.

The silence he had when he was swimming was a contrast to the loudness he’d proclaim in the taverns. It was silent when he swam the same sea the Jackdaw’s mortars crushed the hulls of stolen vessels. He conquered, and he conquered.

And he swam, and he swam.

Edward was born in land, but his legacy would be in the sea. And knowing how closer the golden age was coming to an end, maybe his death would be too.

Although his clothes were drenched, he climbed the tallest point of the island, past the heights of churches with Spanish names, past the ruins of Maya temples of times that were long gone. He went up closer to the clouds and land of the saints.

Climbing was the closest way a sinner could reach heaven, closest any man like him would ever get to seeing true eternal glory. A pirate like him sinned every time he breathed. He sabotaged himself if he ever thought he was going to go to heaven.

He let the wind push and pull, let the salty breeze breathe on him as the sunlight gazed on. His fingers would hold tight to every ridge, every dip and bump feeling as familiar as the wheel of his ship.

No matter how many times he climbed, he knew it wasn’t all going to be successful. There was always the possibility of botching it; one step too heavy than the other, one bad stumble and he would be facing a terrible death. It was a sharp way to be disciplined, to be at the mercy of heaven and ready to plunge back to Earth. But it was necessary. Humbling, ironically.

Finally, he reached the tallest point of the tree and stood to his feet. Balance always came perfectly to his bare legs or leather boots, a talent he showed off like a golden chain or a shiny stone as a boy.

It used to be a game to cross a balance beam as a boy, standing on ledges and on bricks in between lulls of work. He would speak Welsh with his handful of friends—the children of the neighborhood—knowing that his mother tongue would be chastised the moment he was to be in an English schoolyard.

He would proclaim himself to be king as he stood proudly on the brick ledge, outrunning his competitors for the top. _"_ _Myfi yw'r brenin!"_ he would shout, voice loud and his right fist thumping against his chest. "I am the king!"

Only for another child to push him off in a moment of distraction, ending up on the ground with scraped knees and burning holes in his pride.

It was the cost of victory. To be the winner meant to be at the top of the world, in the highest quarters of a castle, to sit on the most luxurious of all thrones. It was an early lesson he learned through roughness; to be a victor does not mean that the conflict was over. To be a victor meant to be a higher target; of murder, of envy, of betrayal, of the possibility of failure and rejection.

After all, a blade could still pierce through velvet.

Nearly three decades after those naive, innocent years. And there he was, at the top of it. At the top of yet another beautiful island, the sea a bright blue to match the hue of the sky.

Edward let the world breathe on him.

He let the thin air of being up high press at his temples. He listened to the wind, the chips of birds as they flew behind him and around him. White foam flickered as the waves lapped at the sand, red crabs skittering along the bank. Even at such a high point, the sea would be the clearest jewel he would ever see.

The split second of hesitance, his heart beat in his throat, blood hammering at his ears and his adrenaline coursing all at once.

Yet when the noise in his head turned silent, all was quiet. He let his arms extend to his sides.

And Edward leapt into the sky, the grasp of the heavens letting him go with every falling meter as he dove into the water, his destination only getting bluer.

The impact as he cut through to the ocean was sharp as a slap, stinging against every inch of his body, yet he let himself dive. He let the sea wash over him, pressure in his ears and salt in his nose to be a scorching reminder that his place in the world meant nothing. He could be the Captain, but he could never rule the sea.

He swam and swam and swam. Letting every muscle burn in pain as he stretched and dove his arms into the sea. His eyes stung, his nose burned, his lungs screamed, but he kept swimming upwards.

And finally, he broke to the surface, a sharp gasp for air.

He let himself float, let the foam flicker at his skin. The salt washed away the sins and left his hair stiff, dead skin washed away to let the new one grow. The ocean was clear in the sandbank, clear as the bright blue sky above him.

Even though he knew that swimming the knots of the nautical distance would do nothing to undo the ones in his throat and stomach, he didn’t let that bother him.

Edward James Kenway was nothing in the sea. And for someone to be so full of himself, he guessed that would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Comments are very welcome!


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